


Good Omens in the Bad Place

by McBangle



Category: Good Omens (TV), The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Michael (Good Omens) is Michael (The Good Place), Pre-The Good Place, Prompt Fill, The Good Place Happens After Good Omens, They/Them Pronouns for Michael (Good Omens), because why not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McBangle/pseuds/McBangle
Summary: Inspired by the prompt A thing I want: a work using the tag “Michael (Good Omens) is Michael (The Good Place)”.What it says on the tin.
Relationships: Michael & Shawn (The Good Place), Michael (Good Omens) & Michael (The Good Place), Michael (The Good Place) & Real Eleanor Shellstrop | Vicky
Comments: 8
Kudos: 47





	Good Omens in the Bad Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SunriseMagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunriseMagpie/gifts).

> Do not read if you haven't watched at least the entire first season of The Good Place. Contains serious spoilers for TGP S1. You've been warned.

Michael backed away from the trial with a growing sense of unease. A demon bathing in holy water? It was unnatural. Almost as if – no. Demons couldn’t change. Sure, they went through the seven stages of demon metamorphosis – everyone knew that – but they couldn’t become good any more than humans could. Once bad, always bad. It was just the way of the world.

After a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, Michael pressed a rapid-fire code into a keypad hidden in a nondescript alcove. A secret door swung open into a part of Hell that even Beelzebub didn’t know about. The birthplace of evil. The real power brokers. The Bad Place.

Michael shuddered in disgust as soon as the door closed safely behind him. The other part of Hell was so dark, damp and dirty. They had _no_ sense of style whatsoever. It’s no wonder that bunch weren’t even allowed to know about the point system, let alone score invites to DemonCon. They had all wasted the last 6000 years focusing on petty rivalries and an apocalypse that clearly was never going to happen while The Bad Place had been perfecting torture into an art form.

He first stopped to check in on Vicky’s progress in torturing Good Michael. It was going about as well as could be expected. The angel sat calmly in their cell checking their cuticles, ignoring every threat that Vicky yelled at them.

Vicky had _no_ creativity. None of his colleagues did. Always trying the same old torture techniques. As if threatening an actual angel with nose scorpions would have worked. At minimum, Vicky should have flipped the script and tried a scorpion nose. He smirked at the mental image of Good Michael with pectines in place of their nose. At least it would have been entertaining.

“How did the Good Michael suit work?” Vicky asked, turning toward Michael.

“It’s still got a few bugs but it has potential,” Michael replied, cricking his neck.

Good Michael rolled their eyes at him. “It’s so obviously fake that only an utter moron would think it was me.”

“Then it’s lucky for me that you angels are all morons,” Michael quipped, stepping out of the skin suit. He was happy to be rid of it; it was more confining than the one he was used to and it smelled irritatingly antiseptic. He took a moment to flex his fire tentacles before pulling on his usual silver-haired skin suit.

“Can I try it?” Vicky’s eyes lit up at the sight of the discarded Good Michael suit.

“Have at it.” Michael tossed it to her. He didn’t have any more use for it now that his mission was over.

Vicky eagerly pulled it on and strutted back and forth outside of Good Michael’s cell. “Look at me, I’m an angel,” she crooned. “I like shiny stuff and no colors and my head is stuck so far up my butt that I can lick my own tonsils.”

“Wow, you got me,” Good Michael commented dryly. They glanced over at Michael. “I thought you had the most unconvincing performance, but clearly I was wrong.”

“Don’t listen to them.” Vicky waved an arm dismissively at Good Michael. “They wouldn’t know good acting if it hit them in the face. Tell Shawn I can play this role. I’m ready for this! You will tell Shawn, won’t you?” She pleaded with Michael, ever the try-hard.

Michael shrugged and walked away. Sure he’d tell Shawn. When dragons flew out of his butt. Which could be as soon as next Bearimy, if the weather held.

Shawn didn’t even bother to look up from his paperwork when Michael walked into his office. “It took you long enough. Was your mission at least successful, or will I need to send an even more incompetent employee to clean up your mess?” He finally looked up at Michael, one eyebrow cocked impatiently.

Michael briefly considered telling Shawn about the holy water incident before deciding he was better off saving that intel in case he ever needed it in the future. “All set!” He proclaimed cheerily. “We kidnapped the angel and I sowed a little discord in the process. I even brought back this pitcher. All in a day’s work.” He set the angel's glass pitcher on Shawn’s desk with a flourish. It would make a fine trophy.

“Hm. Yes.” Shawn picked up the pitcher, turned it over in his hands, then tossed it thoughtlessly over his shoulder. “I’ll put the shards in the ‘Things to Stick Under Fingernails’ pile. And the way I hear it, they already had plenty of discord of their own with their ‘apocalypse.’” He put air quotes around the word. “Ridiculous. If they destroyed the Earth, then where would we get new humans to torture? Do they even think?”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure any of them even wash.”

Shawn turned up a corner of his mouth approvingly. “That’s why we don’t let them out of the basement.” He rapped the eraser of his pencil against his teeth thoughtfully. “How’s Heaven these days? Still as bland as ever?”

Michael thought back to his visit to Heaven’s penthouse. It was nothing like he’d expected The Good Place to be like. “Really empty. I don’t think I saw a single human.”

“Who cares where The Good Place keeps their humans?” Shawn slammed his fist against his desk, startling Michael. “My best architect went to Heaven in an experimental skin suit prototype, and all I got was this lousy glass pitcher?”

Michael straightened reflexively. “And an angel!”

“How’s an angel going to help us torture humans? Unless they bore them to death,” Shawn scoffed.

Michael pulled a chair up to Shawn’s desk and leaned forward excitedly. “We’ll torture information out of them about The Good Place that will make our neighborhood undetectable from the real thing. The project will –”

“Not this again.” Shawn rolled his eyes, shuffling the papers on his desk.

“The Good Place project will revolutionize the torture industry!” Michael insisted.

“We don’t need to revolutionize anything.” Shawn tapped an index finger against his desk emphatically. “The classic torture techniques are classics for a reason. Butthole spiders. Eyelid peeling. Fingernails on chalkboards.” He counted out each one on his fingers. “Each one a time-tested, proven torture technique. Come back to me when you have proof that your Good Place project could rival any one of them.” He turned his attention back to his paperwork, flipping through several pages before looking up pointedly at where Michael still sat. “You’re dismissed.”

“Right. Right.” Michael stumbled out of the chair. He’d barely taken two steps backward when the door to Shawn’s office slammed shut in his face.

Shawn was wrong; Michael knew it. The Bad Place had to innovate or they would become stagnant. The butthole spiders were already getting bored and their best flaming scorpions were showing signs of severe burnout.

If Michael wanted something done right, then he’d have to do it himself. He’d take over torturing Good Michael himself and get intel about The Good Place out of them if it was the last thing he did. He would do whatever it took to make his neighborhood perfect. He had to.


End file.
